


Whisper Comfort

by babykid528



Series: Happy Holiday Fic Gifts [4]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is so sick with flu that he can't make it to the Cho's annual Christmas party. Zach checks in on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisper Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabidchild67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/gifts).



_Hey, this is Chris Pine. Leave a message after the beep._

“Chris, hey. It’s Zach. I’m just calling because Cho said you’re not feeling well so you’re not coming to his Christmas Party this year? I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Give me a call back when you can, okay? Talk to you later.”

It’s a neutral enough message, one that has just the right amount of disinterest in it so as not to raise any suspicions if his mom or sister or anyone else who doesn’t know they’ve been sleeping together for months now overheard it, but Chris can tell Zach’s more than mildly worried.

He wishes he could stop shaking underneath his three comforters long enough to call Zach back and reassure him that everything’s fine. Or. Almost fine, anyway.

If by ‘fine’ you mean ‘the world is ending in a violent shuddering and freezing cold sweat and Chris may actually waste away to nothing before it’s over.’

Yeah.

He somehow managed to catch the flu.

He’s not naming any names. (Katie.) Or placing any blame. ( _Katie!!!_ ) But he was actually fine, in the traditional sense of the word, before his sister visited the other day with his kindergarten-aged nephew. And now he’s very  _not_.

Children are petri dishes. Chris hopes he never has any of his own. In fact, he hopes to never sees another child for the rest of this life.

It took a ridiculous amount of effort to get into pajamas and climb into bed yesterday afternoon before calling his sister to complain. And the stuffy, achey, freezing horror hadn’t even begun in earnest at that point.

He sweated through three different pairs of pajamas in the night. He tried a number of times to just not wear any pajamas, but then he shivered so badly his teeth clacked and he bit his tongue.

Every time he takes his temperature, it tells him he’s hotter than a furnace, but if he moves even an inch of his skin out from under his pile of blankets he goes ice cold.

He wants to see a doctor, but he honestly can’t bring himself to move. He just ventures out for water when Katie screams into his answering machine every hour or so, and he loads up on the medicines she left him that morning whenever the alarm on his cell goes off.

He hasn’t eaten more than a sleeve of crackers in a day and a half.

It’s the weekend before Christmas, the day of John’s yearly party, and Chris should be preparing his stomach to load up on Kerri’s ridiculously delicious crab puffs and stuffed mushrooms, but, instead, he’s cocooned in all the blankets he owns and moaning sadly between bouts of coughing and teeth chattering.

Zach tries calling twice more before the party, growing more obviously concerned with each message. Chris is sleeping fitfully when both are left though, and by the time he thinks his fever has finally broken enough or him to sit up a little, the party is in full swing.

He’s just propping himself against his headboard when he hears someone enter his house. The alarm didn’t go off, so he knows it’s someone with the access code. He assumes it’s Katie and gets ready to greet her with a few choice expletive, but then Zach steps into his bedroom doorway.

“Hey,” Chris says, surprised, voice wrecked with flu. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you,” Zach admits gesturing a little wildly in his direction. “I suppose I had good reason to be. You look like death warmed over.”

“Funny,” Chris says, too tired to really spar verbally tonight, “I feel just like that actually.”

Zach shifts on his feet then and Chris notices the plastic bag hanging from his hand.

Zach sees the direction of Chris’ gaze shift and he holds the bag higher.

“I brought you soup,” he says, “from the place you love.”

Chris knows he should thank him, but his energy is draining fast. It must be obvious because Zach’s worry softens into a mixture of sympathy and more than a little pity. Chris doesn’t like being on the receiving end of either emotion, usually, but right now he’ll take them both.

“Sorry I didn’t return your call,” Chris says, voice as exhausted sounding as he suddenly feels.

Zach puts the soup containers down on the dresser and steps closer to help Chris lay back.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Chris says, “You’ll get sick too.”

“Nah, I had my flu shot,” he tells Chris, tucking him into his blanket fortress again.

“I was gonna go this week,” Chris says.

Zach nods, “I know. I remember you said something about it last weekend.”

Chris hums in reply, dropping off into sleep at an alarmingly quick rate.

Zach cards his fingers through Chris’ hair and murmurs softly to him. He tells him he’ll put the soup in the fridge for him, and he’ll make sure he has enough medicine and crackers in the house.

“If you need anything or you’re running low on something,” he says, “I’ll head out for it, but I’ll be right back. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake back up, okay. Right here.”

It’s silly for him to say, completely sappy in it’s own way, and way too domestic for their usual interactions, but it’s the most comforting thing Chris has heard and felt since getting sick. He wants to make sure Zach knows that. That Zach knows he appreciates all of this. That Chris appreciates  _him_. He’ll have to say it later though when the pull to dream is less insistent and his eyes aren’t feeling so impossibly heavy.


End file.
